The Secret Confessions of a Wannabe Journalist
by poestheblackcat
Summary: Sketchy and the Ghostfacers. Dark Angel/Supernatural crossover. Full title "The Not-So Secret Confessions of a Wannabe Journalist"--darn character number limit


Summary: Sketchy and the Ghostfacers. _Dark Angel/Supernatural _crossover.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither of them are. Bummer.

Warning: Canon drug use, some mild language, drunkenness

AN: Just thought Sketchy and the Facers would get along. ;D Can't _believe_ no one's thought of this one.

Notice: For those of you eagerly anticipating (ha! I crack myself up sometimes -_-) the next chapter of my long DA/SPN fic "Snake Demon," I kind of ran out of steam on that one, so it's on my "get back to it when I'm ready to" list. That means I won't be updating it for a while until I get my mojo back. But I will try to work on it. Sorry. My apologies.

**The (Not-So) Secret Confessions of a (Wannabe) Journalist **

My name is Calvin Theodore, known to my friends as "Sketchy." This is an exclusive account of my near-breakout in paranormal journalism. I expect to make lots and lots of money out of my memoirs in the future, so this is me writing my thoughts down before I forget them.

I forget things a lot. My friends blame it on the weed. I blame it on the fact that I'm usually thinking about something else other than what I should be thinking about. I just never remember what it was I was actually thinking about when I should have been thinking about…wait, I've confused myself.

Anyway, here's what happened that almost-auspicious day when I almost got started on my road to fame.

I knocked on the apartment door. Sounds simple right? But this wasn't just any door. This was the door to my entire future. Well, technically, not my _entire_ future, but maybe my next job. The photography/reporting gig was more difficult than it sounded—news was happening all the time; I just had a hard time finding a good story. This, maybe _this_ could be the answer. This could be my hitherto undiscovered secret calling.

There was a loud thump behind the door. Whispers. Then silence. There was a click of the lock turning. The door creaked open slowly. I held my breath. The suspense was killing me. I was about to meet my paranormal investigatory heroes.

Soon the door was open enough to reveal a small dark-haired man. I looked down at him and blinked. He wasn't quite what I'd expected. But then things seldom were.

"Hi," I said nervously. "I'm Calvin Theodore. I-I've got some pictures. Some _not normal _pictures." I whispered dramatically and leaned down. "I heard you were the guys to go to—whoa!" The guy shot a hand out and manhandled me into the room. The door slammed shut.

"Shh," he said, covering my mouth and backing me up against the door. "We can't discuss _it_ out there. It's not safe."

I nodded, eyes wide, and the guy released me.

"So Calvin, right?" he asked. "I'm Harry." He said this like it was really important, so I told myself to try to remember it.

"Harry. Okay. Got it." I nodded again. Maybe I shouldn't have smoked that joint before coming here because all the nodding was making my head spin.

"I'm Ed," said a voice from further inside the room. It belonged to a serious-looking man with glasses and a light-colored beard. "This is my sister Maggie." He motioned to a hot Asian girl.

"Hi," she said and waved. Wait a minute. I looked at Ed and then Maggie. White, Asian. That's not right. And it was so not the pot's fault.

Ed must've noticed my extreme and appropriate state of confusion because he clarified further: "_Adopted_ sister."

"Oh. Okay." I nodded again, forgetting that it would make me dizzy. The room swam. There was a lot of computer stuff. Hard-core, dude. Their logo was all over everything. GHOSTFACERS. Awesome.

"That's Spruce," Harry added, pointing at a guy with a camera in front of his face. Spruce waved. I waved back—didn't want to seem rude. "He's our camera guy."

Whoa, that was dedicated. Having a camera on all the time, so that he wouldn't miss anything. Now that's a real camera man. I could learn a lesson from him. Dude.

"So you have pictures," Harry said, holding his hand out. "Let's see 'em."

I took the packet out of my messenger bag with trembling hands. This packet was my most precious possession at this moment. Aside from my camera. That was pretty important too. And my bong.

Harry took the package and opened it. The rest of the Ghostfacers crowded around him as he pulled out the photographs. Spruce leveled the camera to show Harry's hands.

"Ooh," they all said. I didn't know what that meant, so I explained. "I took those at the old haunted house on Oak and Vine."

"Haunted house?" Ed asked at me over his glasses.

"Yeah, you know the story. Man killed his wife and then himself right after the Pulse, and now he haunts the place." It seemed weird for me to be explaining this to the experts, but it felt kind of good…in a good way.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "_That_ haunted house. Right."

Maggie pointed. "So what's that? It looks like a bedsheet."

I looked. "No, man. That's the ghost. See? It's got a head, and arms. Right there, see?"

Four heads and the camera tilted to the side. "Yeah, I can see it. Yeah," Ed's finger smudged the photo. "There. Level three apparition, maybe?"

"Right. So?" I asked.

Four faces looked at me blankly. "So what?" Harry said.

I shifted on my feet. "So how much can you give me for them?"

Ed and Harry laughed softly. "No," Harry said. "No, no, no." He put his arm around my shoulders. I had to stoop down so he could reach. "Calvin, my man. You're an amateur. Amateurs don't get paid. Professionals get paid. _We_," he gestured to the rest of the Ghostfacers, "are the professionals."

"Oh," I said. "But—"

"No buts." He maneuvered me to the door. "Now we can train you, like you can be our intern—"

"Apprentice," interjected Ed.

"—apprentice if you want," Harry continued, "because you, my man, have an eye for this sort of thing, but we can't pay you."

"Okay," I said. Ghost hunting could be my talent. "Okay. I'd like to be your apprentice."

The group looked at each other and seemed to come to a conclusion. That was awesome; they could understand each other without actually talking. Group thinking. Right on.

"That's great," Ed finally said. "You can start tomorrow night."

The air suddenly got cold. "Wait a minute! You're hiring this guy?" The indignant voice came out of the air next to me. Whoa. This pot definitely had a little something else in it. I decided I wouldn't smoke this kind anymore.

"Corbett," said Maggie calmly, "No need to be jealous. You're the only guy Ed ever has and ever will look at."

"Hey," Ed glowered at his "sister." "Not in front of _people_," he hissed, glancing at me. I didn't see the problem. Being around Normal and Cindy all the time has kind of numbed me to being shocked at openly gay people. I really don't care about that sort of stuff.

The air shimmered and a youngish looking dark-haired guy appeared. "Whoa," I said, voice trembling. "That's a…that's a _ghost_."

Corbett the Ghost rolled his eyes. Whoa. Ghosts can roll their eyes? Ya learn something new every day. "Yeah, he's a genius, guys. Really? _I_ was the best intern ever."

"Yeah," Harry cut in. "And you saved us and everything. But the thing is, you're dead and you can't do intern-type things, and besides, you're really a full-fledged Facer now, not just an intern. Remember? We could use a new addition to our team."

"Guys," I pointed at the ghost. "That's a _ghost._" So what? I repeated myself. It's not everyday you see a real live ghost. Real dead ghost? Real undead ghost? Real—? Never mind.

"You h-hunt ghosts right? So w-why…H-how?" I stammered.

Harry and Ed huffed indignantly. "No," Ed said, pushing his glasses up. "We _face_ ghosts. We're the Ghost_facers_, not the Ghost_busters_ or the Ghost_hunters _or-or the _Winchesters_." Huh? The whos?

"Anyway," he continued with great gravity, "if you want to learn how to face ghosts from the best, come back tomorrow night at seven. Got it?"

I nodded uncertainly. "Yeah. I got it. Tomorrow night. Seven. Yeah. I'll be here," I smirked at him with both forefingers pointed out and my thumbs up in a perfect mimicry of Alec's "gotcha" look. Okay, it wasn't as cool-looking as when Alec did it, but it was pretty close.

As I did so, I caught sight of a couple of pictures on the wall. What the—?

"Hey," I said, "I know that guy." I did. It was Alec. Sort of. At least, from what I could see of the picture under the red X on it. There was picture of another guy right next to it, also crossed out.

The reaction was explosive. Like _"Boom!"_ Harry and Ed started cussing and Maggie sort of went all angry eyed like some kind of dragon lady and Spruce started shaking the camera around. Corbett fritzed in and out.

"You know them?" Harry finally asked.

"No, not both of them. Just him." I pointed at the picture of Alec. "I work with him. Why? And why're they all crossed out like that?" Maybe I shouldn't have said I knew him. Could be these guys are dangerous or something. Wouldn't want to get Alec hurt or in trouble with anybody.

"Dean?" Ed asked. "You know Dean?"

What? Dean? "Wait a minute," I said laughing a little nervously. "That's Alec, right? The guy I know is Alec. Not Dean."

"Nooo," Spruce said slowly. "That's Dean Winchester and his brother Sam. They're dicks."

"Oh," I said. "Umm, okay. Yeah, probably not him then. Alec's not a dick. Not even close. It's probably like one of those things, dopplers or whatever, right?" I started backing out towards the door. "Yeah, I'll see you guys tomorrow night then. Later."

I hurried out as fast as I could. I wanted to get away to think and process what had just happened.

Number one: Whoa, dude. That was a ghost. I just saw a ghost and it talked to the guys I am going to work for.

Which brings us to Number two: Whoa, I just met the Ghostfacers. They're like, legendary. Sort of. Not really. Whatever.

And Number three: Alec looks like Dean Winchester, the dick brother of Sam Winchester, also a dick. Or Dean Winchester looks like Alec. Or Alec looks like Sam's…I need a joint. My head hurts. Medicinal, you know?

So anyway, I headed to Crash, because that's where I always go if I want to think. It's nice and crowded and loud. Nice atmosphere. I like it.

When I got there, all the guys from work were already a couple drinks ahead of me.

"I see you all started the party without me." I put on a phony offended front.

Alec grinned at me. "Heh-hey, Sketchmeister! Where you been?" He clapped me on the shoulder.

I smiled weakly at him. "Around," I said. "Actually, that's what I want to talk to you about." He raised an eyebrow. "Alone," I stressed.

He threw me a strange look but followed anyway. Max scowled at him, but he just shrugged back and sat down at the bar next to me.

"Okay," he said, face open, but concerned. "What's up?"

I cleared my throat. It was a bit dry. I signaled for a drink. After I got it and took a cool and refreshing sip, I started. "Don't think I'm crazy, okay? I'm not."

Alec frowned. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "Sure."

"I've got a coupla questions for you." I took another sip of the beer. The alcohol zinged down my throat. "Have you ever pissed off three guys and a chick? And a ghost?"

Dark eyebrows shot up over surprised green eyes. "Uh, what?" Alec blinked and shrugged as he considered my questions. "Okay. Three guys. Yeah, probably way more than that." He tilted his head to the side. "A chick? Does Max count?" He smirked at the snort I gave and continued. "And a what? A ghost? Hmm, now let me think." He put on a thoughtful look. "No. Because they don't exist, Sketch. They don't." He gave me an incredulous look, as if saying, 'Dude, really?'

I nodded, serious. "They do too," I insisted. I lowered my voice and leaned forward. "I _saw_ one."

Alec frowned. "You did," he stated. "You _did_? Was it scary?" he asked, deadpan. He totally believed me.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Totally, dude. He didn't like me." Alec opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. He was completely speechless at my brave feat.

"Hey," I kept going with my investigation. "Do you know some guy named Dean? Do you have a brother?"

Alec's face scrunched up a little bit, but spread out into a relaxed smile the next moment. "Sketch, Sketchy man," he laughed lightly. "What's with the interrogation? It's weird."

"It's not an interrogation; it's an interview," I corrected.

"Okay," he said. "Alright. So it's an interview. Why do you want to know these things? What brought it on?"

So I told him about my sweet adventure and my planned exploits for the next night.

Alec got seriously interested when I told him about the Winchesters and the Ghostfacers' reactions. He thanked me for telling him about them and kept ordering drinks to show his appreciation. I'm a good friend. He's a good friend too. He was buying, so I kept drinking. We both did. And we got, like, sooo drunk. Or at least I did, and I'm betting Alec did too, because he had as much as me, maybe even more. Man can hold his liquor, but no one can drink _that_ much and not get drunk.

So then we stumbled over to his place, 'cause his buildin' was closer, an' den he dumped me on hish couch, an' shaid I coul' shleep there. Cush he di'n' wan' me ta go home 'lone. Sho I shed I'd crash der. Crash. Funny. Datch da name of da bar where we got drunk. Anyways…Where wush I?

Oh yeeeeah. Whoa, like, eben my thoch were shlurred. Maybe I wush really, really drunk. Or high. Or both. Yeah.

Alec's head floated in my vision. I reached for his face so it wouldn't fly away. He'd need his head to ride his bike for work. Normal'd can him if he couldn't ride at all, even if he was his "Golden Boy."

Alec batted my hand away and moved out of my sight. "Lie down, Sketch. You're in for a huge hangover tomorrow so you better get whatever sleep you can. We've still got work tomorrow." He pushed me back onto his couch. It was soft. My eyelids slid closed.

I groaned and snuggled into the pillow. I guess I fell asleep because I don't remember much of the rest of the night.

Sometime between then and the time I guess woke up—I thought I heard the door shut, but it was probably my imagination, since Alec didn't say anything about leaving the apartment in the morning when I woke up, face sticky from drool.

Morning. Speaking of which, getting drunk at night is great; it's the morning after that sucks. That's always been my philosophy. My solution: Weed. It's a cure-all. Problem: No-smoking policy at Alec's. Bummer.

You know what was even more bummer-y? Alec still looked as good and _perky_ as he usually did. Life isn't fair. I felt like crap (excuse me for a moment while I bow before the porcelain god) and he was _smirking_. Smirking and making a godawful racket in that kitchen, scraping up something to eat (sorry, had to gag again—oops, sorry lady; I'll get you a new shirt).

Anyway, to sum it all up, I felt like shit and Alec looked like he hadn't had a drink at all last night. But I'm a good employee—you hearing me, Normal? —so I got up and dragged myself out of my deathbed to work. Rather, I let Alec drag me to work. But hell, I was still there. Mostly.

That day was a normal workday. Normal ragged, I moaned. Max bitched. Alec…got hit a lot. Something about getting "him" drunk. Couldn't hear who they were talking about when they said "him," because the drums in my head were pounding too hard. Maybe it was somebody I know. Whatever. I digress.

Anyway, by seven on the dot, I was there at the apartment door again, waiting for it to open and reveal my future. I stood there, wide-eyed and ready for adventure—my late morning joint had done its work: no more headache, and I felt great. Better than great.

7:01. I knocked again. Maybe they hadn't heard. Probably too busy getting ready for the Facing, right?

7:02. Knocked again. Still no answer.

7:02:30. Pounded this time. Maybe they had bad hearing. The door swung open. Slowly, like in a horror movie. Ooh, scary. I pushed it further once it started to stop.

The wooden slab with the peeling green paint creaked open and what I saw left me dismayed. I musta stood there for, like, 2 hours with my mouth wide open.

Gone, everything was gone. No cameras, no computers, nada. Just a pile of junk food wrappers and pinholes in the dirty wallpaper. No people. No note either.

I left with a dejected air at 7:05.

And that was my five minutes of almost-fame.

Crap. I'm depressed now. My life sucks. Anybody up for a beer? You're buying.

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AN: Yes, I know it's "doppelganger" not "doppler," but the latter sounds more Sketchy-ish.

Anybody catch the "Alec's not a dick" line? I'm sure Max would disagree…*snort* I think I'm sooo clever…*rolls eyes*

Poor Sketchy. I liked him. And by the way, I wonder where Herbal Thought went (besides catching criminals on _Numbers_). By da most high and powerful Jah, he was an interesting character.

Ooh, right, almost forgot. If you haven't seen the new Ghostfacers installment (the one they showed at Comic Con before the S5 clip), AJ Buckley posted it on his FaceBook. I don't have the link, but somebody probably has it. It's hilarious. So anyway, that's where the Ghost!Corbett idea comes from.

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End file.
